


Vignette

by politic_x



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:59:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politic_x/pseuds/politic_x
Summary: Faith in black and white.





	Vignette

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experimental story I did in the late 1990s. I was trying to write in a way that would convey a broken Mulder by disassociating his various features ("a hand writes" not "he writes").

A hand rises to the chalkboard. It is a large hand, elegant yet callused; the fingernails are manicured but the thumbnail is bitten to the quick. The hand hovers for several minutes before carefully writing three words: 'REAL,' 'HOAX' and 'UNCERTAIN.'

The hand falls to the side, spraying a fine line of dust on the Armani suit. It clutches the chalk tightly, threatening to break it. The hand has broken larger things before. It could snap the chalk in half if it is not careful.

The hand pauses under 'REAL,' then begins writing slowly. 'Eves. Flukeworm. Aliens. Cancer. Black oil. Implant.' And so it goes, filling a large area of the blackboard beneath 'REAL.' 

'HOAX' is the easiest of them all. The hand rushes through a few words - 'Arlinsky's alien in the ice,' 'Deep Throat's UFO' - and then pauses. 'HOAX' is not the easiest of them all. 'HOAX' is the most difficult.

The hand touches the word 'UNCERTAIN' as if the heading renders the writer unable to continue. Finally the chalk touches down on the surface of the blackboard and fills three rows of words. 'Hybrids,' 'Colonization,' 'Samantha,' 'UFOs,' are a few of these words. 'The God Module,' 'Remote Viewing,' 'The Spot on my Couch,' are a few more.

The Armani suit is powdered with chalk dust by the time the man finishes the list. He bends at the waist and places both hands on his knees, as if trying to catch his breath. "Words," he says. "They are only words." 

Heels click in the corridor outside the room and the man in the suit turns slightly. His head moves back to the lists and picks up the eraser just as the woman enters.

Her eyes look past him to the blackboard. An eyebrow arches. 

The hand uses the eraser to wipe away all that she sees. "They are only words," he says again. But he doesn't let go of the chalk. The fingers cling to it as though the chalk were a lifeline.

There is a singular pause in the room. The man in the Armani suit is holding his breath. He appears to wait for a remark from the woman. Still, the hand continues erasing.

When the last word is gone from the blackboard, she speaks lowly. "They are more than words."

He shakes his head and shrugs. "I don't know."

"You are trying to make sense of your life."

He nods and looks at her. His head bows as their eyes meet.

Her heels click on the floor as she walks to him and removes the chalk from his hand. Her handwriting is larger than his. "Sometimes words are more than words." She scrawls out several letters and then underlines them in an emphatic gesture. 

He watches her hand as it returns the chalk to the tray. She looks at the blackboard for a moment and then leaves, heels clicking. Her feet stop in the doorway and her eyes peer back at him. "Sometimes words are all that we need."

He stares at her back. Then the man in the Armani suit stares at the blackboard. 

'I BELIEVE.'

\-- --

A hand rises up to the chalkboard. It is a large hand, a man's hand. It is elegant yet nervous. It trembles as it hovers over the two words: 'I BELIEVE.' The woman wrote these two words as a sentence. But the man does not see a sentence, he sees another category. 'I BELIEVE.' 

The hand taps the chalk against the blackboard once, twice, and then begins a rhythm. 

'I BELIEVE,' the man seems to think. 'I BELIEVE.' Apparently, the man wonders what exactly is meant by these words, because the chalk continues tapping. 

"I believe," the voice says. "That all men are created equal. I believe that the truth is out there. I believe in Santa Claus. I believe that we are not alone. I believe that life is no less beautiful when looking through the lens of science." The voice halts.

The eyes light up and then the hand does a little dance in the air and the voice becomes a few notes higher than normal. "I believe in miracles." The hand waves. "Since you came along. You sexy thing."

And then the man does something else unexpected. He swirls around the room giddily, waving chalk in the air and smiling. The dance slows and the hand covers the man's heart. The head falls back and the eyes close. The lips smile. "I believe," the man says.

He waltzes slowly to the blackboard. His hand holds the chalk carefully. He begins writing under this category: 'I BELIEVE.' 

He writes the letters slowly. 'S c u l l y.' He puts the chalk down. The eyes stare at the word for a long moment, then the hand lifts again, but not to form a word. Instead, the hand covers the name on the blackboard. The fingers bend slightly as if the hand wants to cradle the name.

The eyes roam over the words 'I BELIEVE.' This time, the eyes do not see a category. This time the eyes see a sentence.

'I believe.' 

"Scully," the mouth shouts to the empty room. "Scully!" 

The feet step quickly to the window and the eyes search beyond the pane. The woman has gone. 

The head turns slightly and the eyes once again read the words on the blackboard. "I believe," the mouth murmurs. 

 ---- 

The sun sets. 

The man stands before the blackboard. 'I BELIEVE.' 'Scully.'

The hand grips the chalk tightly. There are more words to be written but there are not enough words to write.

The fingers trace the words.

'I BELIEVE'

The man puts the chalk away.


End file.
